


domesticated

by sky_reid



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Anal Sex, Angry Sex, Blow Jobs, Dirty Talk, Domestic, Established Relationship, Fluff, Intercrural Sex, Kink Meme, Kitchen Sex, M/M, Nipple Play, Pet Names, Porn, Semi-Public Sex, Sex Toys, Skype Sex, and mentions of bdsm, as in domesticity kink, is that even a thing, like the mildest angst ever, not rly angry angry but yanno, of sorts anyway, oh!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-12
Updated: 2016-03-12
Packaged: 2018-05-26 07:26:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6229144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sky_reid/pseuds/sky_reid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>nothing gets harry going quite like mentioning a marriage licence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	domesticated

**Author's Note:**

> i was going through my drafts folder last night (i'm so sorry you're friends with me dell) and i found a few real gems (like a blank document that just said "think of a title you dick" in bold italic caps) including this completely finished fic that i wrote over a year ago and for some reason never posted??? so yeah, this is a bit old, but i actually thought it was okay when i read through it so i figured why not put it up
> 
> anyway, i went through the (new) 1d kink meme way back when i was first starting in this fandom to pick up some ideas and copied like fifty prompts that caught my eye into a document and one of them was [this one](http://1dkink2015.livejournal.com/1450.html?thread=83370#t83370) for which i wrote this fic. ages ago. honestly this is so old don't judge me pls
> 
> (oh hey this is my 20th fic in the fandom on here! well there's one more floating around there but it's still anonymous)

_i._

The first time it happens Louis is completely oblivious as to the reason. One minute he’s sitting on the couch, watching one of Harry’s cooking shows on 24Kitchen and complaining about Harry’s incessant texting, and the next he’s got his dick halfway down Harry’s throat. It’s not that Louis is complaining, it’s just a bit of a shock is all.

As far as Louis knows, it’s just a regular Friday, nobody’s birthday, no national holiday, no cause for any kind of celebration. But those are definitely Harry’s fingers wrapped around the base of his cock and Harry’s mouth wrapped around the head of it. It’s so completely out of the blue that Louis is still soft when Harry begins to suckle. He threads a hand through Harry’s hair unthinkingly, a sort of reflex he’s developed from years of experience in Harry kneeling for him. Harry hums happily; his eyes are closed and he looks blissed out as he takes Louis’ entire dick in his mouth. His hand is gentle where it now lands on Louis’ thigh, the touch so light it’s barely there. His mouth on Louis’ cock is anything but.

Sometimes Harry does this thing where he takes Louis’ soft cock into his mouth and just keeps it there, cleans it if Louis’s already come or waits for it to get hard if they’re just getting started. He says he likes the weight of it on his tongue, likes to _feel_ as it gets harder and bigger, likes it to fill his mouth slowly. Now is apparently not one such time because he’s using every trick he has, and he has plenty. Louis is getting hard so fast he’s dizzy. Harry’s tongue is working _magic_ on his cock, swirling around the head, dipping into the foreskin, pressing against the vein on the underside. Louis tightens his grip on Harry’s hair and tugs on it a little, not so harshly as to start something but harshly enough to make Harry gasp. He doesn’t intend to pull Harry off, but Harry lets him slip out of his mouth with a wet pop; he gets a hand around Louis’ cock instead and starts stroking it absently. His eyes are still closed, his head tilted back a little as if he’s basking in the sun. His lips are stretched in a smile, already red and swollen and shiny with spit. Louis runs the thumb of his free hand over the bottom one. For the first time he notices Harry’s hand disappearing under the waistband of his trackies.

“Ed texted me,” Harry says, like that’s even remotely relevant information when his mouth is barely a breath away from Louis’ cock. “He’s at a party somewhere. There’s music and dancing and alcohol and weed.”

“That’s great,” Louis replies even though he’s barely listening. He pushes up into Harry’s hand and watches Harry’s tongue dart out to wet his lips.

“He called us an old married couple for not being there.”

Louis doesn’t understand why Harry is still talking. He uses his grip on Harry’s hair to guide him forward and feeds his cock into Harry’s mouth. Harry takes him easily, sucks him down like he’s starving for it. When Louis starts fucking his mouth, Harry just moans and opens wider. Louis must have been a saint in a previous life to deserve Harry as a reward.

Lorraine Pascale is still baking on the screen when Louis comes down Harry’s throat. Harry swallows everything with an obscene sound, like Louis’ come is the tastiest thing he’s ever had. He keeps suckling on Louis’ cock until he’s milked it dry, until it’s spotless and soft and Louis has to push him away because he’s too sensitive. Harry grins at him beatifically, redresses him carefully and climbs into his lap. There’s a wet spot on the front of his sweats.

“Love you,” he says before leaning in for a quick kiss. Louis is still a bit too dazed to do anything but kiss back.

_ii._

The second time it happens, Louis starts to suspect. They’re in the middle of arguing over whose turn it was to buy groceries when Harry drops his pants and bends over the table. It’s a bit less of a shock this time around but Louis’ throat still goes dry at the sight.

“ _What_ are you doing?” he croaks.

Harry reaches behind himself and spreads his cheeks. “Fuck me,” he says.

Which is not really an answer so Louis feels the need to point out, “We’re _arguing_ , I wasn’t _done_ ,” even as he gets his half-hard cock out and rubs it over Harry’s crack.

“I _know_ ,” Harry moans like this all makes perfect sense. Louis puts one hand between his shoulder blades and pushes him against the table. He finds Harry’s hole blindly, shoves two fingers inside easily. Harry’s still wet and loose from earlier; God, Louis fucked him not an hour ago, long and deep and sleepy and _good_ , he has no idea how they’re both more than ready to go again. “Ready, ‘m ready, just fuck me,” Harry whines, shamelessly riding Louis’ fingers. And he’s probably _not_ , especially when all Louis has at hand to slick himself up is the lube still smeared over Harry’s arse and his own come that his fingers are now covered with, but he runs his hand down Harry’s spine, presses down on the small of his back and shoves inside. Harry grunts; his back arches under Louis’ hand and he pushes back.

“Don’t be greedy,” Louis warns. He’s not surprised when Harry just moans and starts to fuck himself on his cock instead. He’s still holding his arsecheeks spread so Louis can watch his cock disappear inside; Harry’s rim looks red and puffy but his hole is swallowing Louis’ cock hungrily and he’s moaning loudly, his breath fogging the fancy lacquered tabletop he insisted on buying. Louis grabs his hips and starts fucking him at a punishing pace. Harry only manages a few thrusts in the same position, just enough for Louis to see his cock coming out stained with his own come, before he has to grab onto the edge of the table. “And all this,” Louis asks between pants, “because you couldn’t have strawberries for breakfast?”

Harry had stumbled into the kitchen while Louis was making tea, wearing nothing but Louis’ briefs and a few angry-looking bruises; he’d dug through the fridge for a few minutes before shoving the door closed and turning to Louis with a frown. He snapped something about how it had been Louis’ turn to do the shopping and how could he have forgotten _again_ ; Louis was too distracted by Harry’s nipples all perked up from the cold to argue back with something better than claiming it had actually been _Harry’s_ turn to buy his own strawberries. Which it _had_ been. Of course, Harry couldn’t very well let it go and Louis didn’t _want_ to. So they fought. And now they’re here.

“You should’ve got the bloody groceries,” Harry throws over his shoulder. His words are all broken up with sharp inhales and grunts. “We’re out of— oh _shit_ — out of butter too.”

Louis grabs a fistful of his hair and tugs his head back harshly. With his lips brushing Harry’s ear he hisses, “It was _your_ turn.”

“Can’t always be my turn, Lou, fuck, right there, _fuck_ —“ Harry’s eyes are screwed shut and his knuckles white where he’s holding on to the table. He bites his lip, but the sounds still escape him, three parts pleasure, one part pain. Louis fucks him harder, suddenly determined to win this silly spat by fucking Harry into incoherence.

“You know I forget,” he reasons. Harry looks like he’s about to argue, so Louis beats him to it. “Besides, you’re the one who cooks, you know how to pick _your_ produce. I’d just come back with snacks and more takeaway menus.”

“That doesn’t—“ Harry starts, then breaks off on a long moan when Louis changes the angle a bit. Louis’ thighs are starting to burn from the brutal pace he’s set and he’s getting close fast, but Harry sounds like he’s seconds from coming so he pushes through the discomfort and gives it to Harry so hard the table starts to move. “Bloody buggeri— oh, oh, _oh_ ,” Harry whines as he comes. Louis doesn’t last much longer after fucking him through it.

When Harry heads to the market later, he has Louis’ come leaking out of him and a barely noticeable limp; Louis has an idea.

_iii._

The third time it happens, Louis is testing his theory.

They’re out shopping Harry-style, with exclusive pieces and champagne and assistants whose only job is to make sure they have everything they need. It’s probably not the best time, but Louis’s always firmly believed in seizing the opportunity when one presents itself. And one does. So Louis seizes it.

Harry’s browsing through a rack of suits and shirts, matching them with each other and setting them aside over an armchair. Louis picks one combination up, a crisp white shirt Harry paired with a dark grey three-piece suit and a white tie. He holds it against his chest and asks, “What do you think?”

Harry turns around from where he’s choosing between a black suit with shimmering lace trims and a white one with wine red details. The smile that spreads over his face when he sees Louis makes Louis’ insides melt. “It’d look great on you,” he says.

“You say that about everything,” Louis teases, throwing the outfit away.

Harry shrugs, unapologetic. “You make everything look great.”

Louis is not sure how to respond to that, so instead he says, “The black one. The white one’s a bit too mafia for a wedding.” Harry’s eyes go comically wide; he almost drops the suits he’s holding. “Not that I can’t imagine you walking down the aisle in white. Just not in that particular white,” Louis adds. Harry’s fingers tighten around the hangers. “Although, I suppose if we have kids first, then white might not be a good idea. Depending on how old they are.” Even across the room Harry’s sudden inhale is audible. Louis loves being right.

“Kids?” Harry asks weakly.

Louis runs a hand over the back of the armrest in front of him. He tries to sound casual when he replies, “Of course. Didn’t think we’d stop at one, did you?” It’s all true - he wants children, plural, with Harry, wants a lavish wedding where they’ll wear expensive suits and a big family around them; it’s his dream, his plan, his _future_ , it’s not supposed to be dirty talk. And yet, here he is, getting hard thinking about civil partnerships and adoption papers. A part of it is coming from how _Harry_ is reacting, but a part of it is all him. “I was thinking we could find a surrogate who looks like me, have our first be yours.” Harry’s cheeks are tinted light pink; his lips are parted and his tongue sweeps slowly over the bottom one. Louis’ breathing is becoming shallow. “And I’ve always wanted to adopt.”

Harry shakes his head. “Yours,” he says softly. It’s almost like he’s completely forgotten how to speak properly; Louis is quite proud of himself.

“We can do that too. If we ever find a surrogate as pretty as you are. Maybe we’ll even end up with twins.”

Harry's dropping the suits and crossing the room faster than Louis can blink; his huge hands are warm and surprisingly gentle on Louis’ hips. Louis pulls him in by the back of the neck and kisses him desperately as he walks them backwards into a changing room, blindly groping around for the wall to guide him. As soon as they’re inside and Louis’s pulled the curtain closed Harry presses him against the wall and kisses him breathless. Louis is perfectly content riding the thigh Harry pushed between his legs until they part for air and he gets to see what Harry looks like, with splotches of colour high up on his cheeks and his lips kiss-swollen and spit-slick, eyes so dark they look wild and a light sheen of sweat over his skin. He moans loudly and rubs his dick over the bulge in Harry’s jeans instead.

Harry gasps and grabs at his hips, keeps him still for long enough to give him this hungry look that makes him shiver, then spins him around and shoves him face first into the wall. He leans in so he’s pressed against Louis’ back; he nips at Louis’ earlobe and demands, “Tell me,” one part plea, two parts command. Louis is _dizzy_ with how turned on he is. His hands are shaking as he undoes his jeans and pushes his pants along with them down past his knees.

“Wanna get married outside,” he says, watching Harry undress only enough to get his cock out in the full-length mirror, “with a lot of flowers and an open field where we can run and play footie.” Harry grabs him by the hips again and pulls them back as he presses forward; his jeans are rough against Louis’ sensitive skin. “Want our families there, all of our friends. All their children.” Harry moans and hides his face in Louis’ neck like he can’t possibly look at Louis while listening to this. Louis on the other hand just finds it even more fascinating to watch Harry physically react to the words. “Want to write my own vows, maybe make a song out of them.” This time he feels it when Harry shivers. Harry’s cock has slipped between his arsecheeks, hard and _big_ and Louis wants it _inside_ , but they don’t have time and they don’t have lube and Louis really, really could have found a better place for this. “Can’t wait to hear yours, I’ll probably cry. You’ll _definitely_ cry,” he teases.

Harry nuzzles against the back of his neck. “Lou,” he whines, “ _will_.”

Louis pries one of Harry’s hands off his hip and laces their fingers; he kisses the back of Harry’s hand. “Of course, love,” he agrees. He feels a gentle brush of Harry’s lips on his shoulder. Their eyes meet in the mirror and Louis smiles because he gets it; sometimes it feels like they’ve been together forever and though Harry doesn’t wear it in public, he _has_ the ring Louis bought for him in a little red velvet box that he always carries with him, but sometimes he still has these moments when he can’t believe that he gets to have all this, that this is the boy he’s going to spend the rest of his life with. He squeezes Harry’s fingers where their joint hands rest against the wall.

Harry hides his face back in Louis’ shoulder; he sneaks his free hand under Louis’ t-shirt, tickles over Louis’ stomach, runs the pad of his thumb over Louis’ nipples. Louis gasps and pushes back against where Harry has now started to rut against his arse; his nipples have always been sensitive and Harry hasn’t played with them in a while and Louis is suddenly reminded of why they’re there. He reaches behind himself and guides Harry’s cock between his thighs.

“Are you gonna wear a garter under your suit?” he asks just to hear Harry gasp; as soon as he starts talking, Harry starts fucking between his legs. Louis can feel Harry’s face heating up which is _interesting_ because Louis was joking, but apparently he’s onto something here. He crosses his legs at the ankles and tenses his muscles to make the space tighter; though it throws him a little off balance, he trusts Harry to hold him up. “Wanted to surprise me, didn’t you? Have you thought about how I would take it off you with my teeth? Use it to tie your hands together so you can’t touch me while I eat you out until you cry?” Harry’s reaction is even better than Louis expects - he grips Louis’ hand near-painfully hard, sinks his nails into Louis’ chest, starts fucking him fast and hard and moans so loudly they must be heard outside. Louis’ always known Harry’s a bit of an exhibitionist, but he’s never before realised how much it would turn _him_ on to think about how anyone who passes by their changing room will surely know what they’re doing inside.

He reaches down and wraps a hand around himself; he can feel the wet head of Harry’s cock nudging his fingers every time Harry pushes forward. “We’ll be a mess on the day, won’t be?” he says, completely unable to stop himself talking now that he’s started. “I’m sure I’ll be shaking with nerves. You’ll probably bawl your eyes out before you even walk down the aisle. Zayn and Liam will be more dressed up than you and me on our own wedding day because you’ll have your shirt all undone and there’s no way I’m wearing a proper suit.” That gets a choked chuckle out of Harry; he bites down on Louis’ shoulder and twists his nipple and Louis moans quietly. He’s already getting short of breath. “But you know what? Twenty years from now when we show the photos to our kids, we’re still gonna think it was perfect.” It should probably be at least a little bit weird that he’s thinking about children while pumping his cock, but he’s got Harry whining in his ear and Harry’s fingers pinching his nipples and Harry’s cock pushing at his balls and he can’t bring himself to really care. He leans his forehead against the wall and stares down his own body; his thighs are tense, the muscles jumping a bit, and his cock is flushed red and swollen, slicked and shiny with precome as his hand strokes it so fast his tattoos are all blurry. Harry’s fingers are dancing over his chest covered by his threadbare white tee, and his cock just peeks out between Louis’ thighs. Louis is not going to last long like this.

“We’ll be the most embarrassing parents, going to—“ He breaks off on a moan when Harry gives a particularly hard thrust forward, the head of his cock pushing at Louis’ balls and leaving a wet trail over them. “We’ll be going to every football game and dance— _fuck_ — dance recital and anything our kids want,” he keeps going; he feels like he’s lost all control over himself - his mouth is running unfiltered and his hand moves over his cock automatically, twisting and pulling in practised movements. He bites his lip and pushes back against Harry when Harry fucks forward. The open zip of Harry’s jeans keeps biting into the sensitive skin of his inner thighs in a way that is sure to leave stinging marks. “We’ll be that annoying couple that screams, _oh shit_ , so loud nobody else’s parents can be heard,” he manages to get out between pants. Harry moans just at the words. He’s drooling all over Louis’ neck, getting his t-shirt all wet and somehow even _that_ is quickly becoming a turn-on for Louis even though his t-shirt is gonna be ruined by the end of this between Harry’s spit running down his neck and the sweat stains under his arms and the precome he’s getting all over the bottom of it.

He tries to look away, but with mirrors on both sides of them he just ends up mesmerised by the picture they make. They’re a beautiful couple if Louis says so himself; with Harry tall where he’s short, broad-shouldered where Louis is narrow and narrow in the hips where Louis is not, they compliment each other perfectly. He watches the play of muscles in the small of Harry’s back and the flex of his own upper arm as it moves. There’s something erotic about most of their bodies being covered and only flashes of skin showing. Above his head he can see their hands on the wall, fingers still laced together. He catches Harry’s eyes in the mirror, pupils blown and eyelashes wet, and his breath catches. He only manages a few more strokes before he runs his thumb over the head of his cock just as Harry sinks a nail into his nipple and comes with a sharp cry all over his hand and tee, some of it even landing on the wall.

The last drops of come are still sliding down over his fingers when he starts talking again before he’s even decided what to say. “Gonna marry the fuck out of you as soon as I can,” he pants, “put my ring on your finger and have _my_ name on all your IDs.” Harry gasps and gives a sharp thrust forward that all but flattens Louis against the wall. He hisses when his softening cock brushes against the drywall. Without the adrenaline of chasing after an orgasm, he’s suddenly becoming aware of exactly how uncomfortable he is. The muscles in his thighs are sore, his legs feel like they’re seconds away from buckling under his weight and his back hurts. Harry’s still got him boxed in against the wall, is still keening quietly in his ear and fucking between his thighs and Louis knows with sudden clarity that they’ll be exactly like this in ten years, twenty, fifty; just as hungry for each other, just as madly in love. “We’re gonna be doing this at 30,” he tells Harry, “at 50. At 70 when we can hardly stand properly and can’t keep it up without help.”

If he thought talk of erectile dysfunction would deter Harry, he’s sorely mistaken; Harry pinches his nipple and thrusts forward so hard he does end up flattening Louis against the wall. His cock slips out from between Louis’ thighs and in between his arsecheeks. His movement is jerky and the hand that’s still holding Louis’ is gripping so tightly Louis can hardly feel his fingers. He’s close, Louis knows, so he wipes his free hand on his t-shirt and reaches back to pull on Harry’s hair. Harry is whining near-constantly in his ear so Louis talks right over it, loud enough for Harry (and everyone else in the vicinity) to hear; “You are never gonna get rid of me, not until I’m dead,” he says. Harry grunts and nips harshly at the back of his neck. In the mirror Louis can see him frowning. He laughs, still a little breathless and high from his orgasm. “Sorry, love,” he says, pulling on Harry’s hair in apology, “promise we’ll have many years together before that. A lifetime.”

Louis can’t often go twice anymore, but seeing Harry lose it at the thought of them spending their lives together sends a jolt of arousal through him. He feels the flutter of eyelashes on his shoulder as Harry closes his eyes, Harry’s hand in his relaxing for a brief moment before gripping tightly again, Harry’s nails scratching down his chest; he watches Harry’s hips stutter against his arse as he comes. A part of him wishes Harry were naked so he could see the ripple of his skin, his muscles tensing, but there is something erotic about _not_ seeing, about how the only thing he _can_ see being the head of Harry’s cock peeking out above his arse and the ropes of come that paint the small of his back. Harry slumps against him as soon as he’s done; Louis gives him maybe a second to catch his breath before shoving him off and slumping down the wall and onto his knees because he cannot physically stand anymore. He leans his head against the wall; it feels ice cold under his cheek.

Behind him Harry laughs hysterically. Louis doesn’t have the strength to turn around and glare so he just flips him off. Harry keeps laughing at him. “God,” he sighs. His legs are so sore Harry is probably going to have to carry him out of this changing room. “That was…”

“Hot?”

Louis looks down at himself. His shirt is ruined, the muscles in his thighs are jumping and his left hand is marked where Harry’s rings bit into the skin. “Really bad timing,” he corrects.

“Didn’t hear you complaining,” Harry teases. He flops down onto the floor and helps Louis out of his shirt. Which he then proceeds to use to wipe them both clean.

“ _What_ are you doing!?” Louis gasps, wrestling his shirt back. “I have nothing else to wear!”

Harry shrugs. “It was a goner anyway,” he says casually. Then something seems to dawn on him. He leans in with a grin. His bottom lip is bitten red and swollen. “I’ll buy you a new shirt,” he adds.

Louis rolls his eyes. “Yes, yes, enjoy the separate accounts while you still can.” Harry lays him out on the floor and kisses him until he feels like he can stand.

Not one of the four assistants they run into when they walk out can look at them. It’s probably a good thing because while Harry only looks a little flushed and sweaty, Louis is an absolute mess with his nipples sore and puffy from Harry playing with them and visible welts running down his front from Harry’s nails; he has to lean on Harry to walk and he can feel his pants chafing against the skin of his arse where Harry’s zip left angry red marks.

Harry does end up getting him a new shirt; it’s silk and colourful with hot pink buttons and nothing like the one he forgot in that changing room.

_iv._

The fourth time is absolutely and unequivocally Louis’ fault. He knows what pet names do to Harry, how they get him all smiley and soft and squirmy and he uses that to his advantage quite often, so really, he should be surprised something like this has never happened before. Maybe it has and he just didn’t notice.

It all started the night before when Louis was lying alone in their bed and Harry was an ocean away, having lunch with God knows who and being spotted God knows where. Louis usually likes to think they’ve grown out of their co-dependent, can’t-be-apart-from-you-for-more-than-a-few-hours-at-a-time phase, but it’d been a long day and he was feeling especially pathetic and lonely lying in their huge bed and hugging one of Harry’s giant soft pillows because it smelled like him. So he sent Harry a snap of his face mushed against the sheet and captioned it with _miss u babe_.

He fell asleep not long after that, too tired to keep his eyes open long enough to see Harry’s reply but he woke up to a full hour of Harry’s photos. In the beginning it was artfully arranged food or coffee with mountains of whipped cream occasionally featuring Harry’s hands; soon, though, the photos started to show less of the surroundings and more of Harry himself - Harry behind the wheel of his car, Harry in their garage, cooking in their kitchen, sunbathing in their backyard, reading in their bed. Most of the snaps came without captions, but some had short explanations or reminders or just whatever random thought was going through Harry’s head at the time. Louis knew that they were all meant to make him feel _better_ , but by the time he was done going through them he actually felt even closer to crying than he had last night.

Normally, Louis is much better than this at dealing with the distance. That doesn’t mean there aren’t days when he’s acutely aware of exactly how many days or weeks it’s been since he’s had Harry wrapped up in his arms at night, since the last time they shared breakfast, a bed, a breath. A fucking continent. He took a snap of his pouting face that showed the rest of the bed all messed up and empty, captioned it with ‘wish u were here’ and sent it before going about his morning routine. When he came back, a mug of tea in hand, he had a text from Harry that only said _skype?_.

Harry was already logged on by the time Louis’ laptop woke up and video called him immediately; he couldn’t sleep, he said, didn’t like how empty the house felt, but was too keyed up from his day to just pass out even though it was stupid early in LA. So Louis did the only thing he could do - he talked. It wasn’t intentional at first, the frankly excessive use of pet names, just a natural consequence of being apart for so long and talking to Harry like this for the first time in days. And then he noticed how Harry was reacting to every _baby_ , _darling_ , _sweetheart_ , _love_ , how he started to squirm and had to wipe his palms on his thighs, how his cheeks flushed steadily darker and prettier pink and then, well, Louis couldn’t let that opportunity pass him by either. So he made sure to add a pet name at the end of every sentence, to think of new ones as well as bring out the old favourites. Even when Harry was talking, he made sure to jump in with a comment and an extra sweet endearment or two attached. Because, well, there was nothing Louis liked quite as much as getting Harry hot.

Which is how they’ve now ended up here, with Louis talking Harry through fucking himself with the biggest dildo they own. He’s on his knees on the bed, arse to the camera, holding onto the headboard with one hand while the other sinks the dildo slowly inside him. He has one of their smaller ballgags in his mouth to stop him from whining and Louis can just about make out the shine of spit where it gathers in the corners of his mouth. He’s looking at the screen over his shoulder, eyes unfocused, and lips stretched in what would probably be a smile were it not for the gag. He sinks the toy deep inside and twists it around before pulling it out completely so Louis has a better view of how his hole looks stretched and red and shiny with lube. He fucks the dildo back inside slowly with a moan.

“Yeah, just like that, baby,” Louis praises. “Go a little faster.” Harry’s head drops between his shoulders as he starts fucking himself faster, but he looks back up immediately, as if he can’t do this without seeing Louis. So Louis rewards him by adjusting the laptop to show more of his body and moaning loudly as he strokes his cock. He’s glad that if they have to do this over Skype they at least both have the place all to themselves. He watches the slightly pixelated image of Harry on his screen get blurrier as Harry starts squirming more. “That’s it, love,” Louis says, loving how he can _see_ Harry shiver at the name. “Oh darling, love watching you do this. Always look great like that, babe.”

By the time Harry comes Louis’s reduced to just moaning out every sweet thing that comes to his mind and Harry’s not so much fucking himself with the toy as he’s just grinding against it and getting off on Louis’s words alone. All in all, it’s not such a bad morning.

_v._

The fifth time is absolutely and unequivocally _not_ Louis’ fault. He could not have predicted Harry would return earlier (and he definitely couldn’t have predicted Harry getting turned on by the sight of him in an apron) (okay, in all honesty, that’s a lie, he totally saw that one coming). He was counting on Harry’s writing session running long and fans slowing him down and, once the storm started, terrible traffic, but when Harry bursts through the door, shaking the rain out of his hair and taking off his coat in stride, Louis still has two pots boiling. Also, the dishes from his first three unsuccessful attempts are in the sink to testify to his failure. Louis is a bit peeved, honestly; he was planning on surprising Harry with a nice dinner he’d pretend to have done right on the first try. It’s a good thing Harry is one of those it’s-the-effort-that-counts people because Louis was rather hoping to get fucked tonight (he didn’t expect it to happen while he was still wearing an apron, but oh well).

As soon as Harry figures out Louis is actually cooking not just microwaving their dinner, his face gets all soft and fond; he kisses Louis like he can’t quite believe he’s real and starts talking in this voice that reminds Louis of how _he_ gets after he’s pushed Harry a little too hard, fucked him a little too rough, got him a little too far under. Louis isn’t used to being on the receiving end of that; it’s good, makes him feel safe and loved and cared for and it just. It’s doing things to him. Makes him feel a little weak in the knees and has him leaning into Harry’s warmth, clinging onto his shoulders, mewling into his neck. And Harry holds him and kisses his forehead and calls him amazing.

Then he turns off the stove, bends Louis over the counter and fingers him so gently and so thoroughly and for so long that Louis is crying honest-to-God real tears by the time Harry’s pushing into him. And the worst part is that Harry just will not stop talking, keeps going on and on and on about how much he loves seeing Louis in an apron, coming home to Louis cooking for him, waiting for him, keeps saying how much he wants this for the rest of his life and God, Louis had thought _Harry_ was the one getting off on all this domestic shit, but he’s just as bad; he comes with Harry’s voice in his ear painting a picture of the two of them making breakfast together for their children. He makes a mess of the apron Harry had made him keep on even after he’d taken the rest of his clothes off and Harry fucks him right through it, pushes him down into the counter and keeps going until Louis is sobbing and his legs are shaking so bad Harry has to carry him to the bathroom to clean up.

_i._

The time that gets them in trouble, that, well. That _might_ also be Louis’ fault. Maybe.

It’s just that Harry is on the verge of getting sick and the interview is dragging and Louis just knows Harry is never going to get up and go get himself something to drink so he does it instead. And when he comes back holding a foam cup filled to the brim with one part tea, two parts lemon and three parts honey (it’s truly terrible tea and he doesn’t fancy poisoning Harry), it’s only natural to kiss Harry’s cheek and say, “Here you go, babe,” as he leans over to put the cup on the coffee table in front of the sofa they’re all seated on. He doesn’t even think about it, doesn’t even realise he’s done something worth mentioning until he notices that their handlers are frowning and Nick has his eyebrows raised and Harry is looking at him like he’s just grown a second head.

“Oh hell,” he mutters. He can already imagine the screaming match this is gonna lead to. He gives Harry an uncertain half-shrug and an apologetic smile. “Wasn’t really thinking,” he mouths. He expects Harry to brush it off but instead Harry just looks even more wide-eyed and confused. He takes a sip of his tea, probably just for something to do, then frowns at it like it’s personally offending him.

It doesn’t really click for Louis until a handful of increasingly awkward and stilted answers later when Harry excuses himself to the bathroom and walks away with hand so forcibly casually placed in front of his crotch there’s no way everyone isn’t noticing it. But once it does click, it _really_ does and okay, Louis is getting hard right there in full view of BBC Radio cameras. The only logical solution, of course, is to go join Harry before the situation gets really serious. The fans are gonna have a field day with this one, but when he squeezes into that tiny bathroom and finds Harry waiting for him, chewing on his bottom lip and already stroking his cock, he can’t really find it in him to care, he just undoes his jeans and launches himself at Harry, getting them off like it’s an Olympic sport and he’s going for the gold.

**Author's Note:**

> find me [on tumblr](http://captivekinqs.tumblr.com)


End file.
